It's yours, baby
sip a little
chug a lot
throw it in the river
or polish out the spots

Break it
melt it
paint it
cap it with a candle
or fill it up again
with *****
or perfume

Because it's yours, baby
no deposit
no return

An Ace
in the hole
is just an
A-hole

against a pair
of twos

It's empty now,
big dark empty spaces,
except for where the light
comes through in shafts
between the splintered
wood and cracks
and holes we made
on hot summer days

punching through our
youthful exuberance
and wide-eyed innocence
laughing like screech owls
falling from the sky after
a night of too much shine

And it lingers,
the smell of purest sweat
from pores of exploration
singing out to cries of
wild abandonment
in the breeze that flutters
paisley and polka dots
with plaid and denim
patched in the worn
out spots

And it's there,
still after rainstorms
and duststorms and
windstorms and
the constant tug of war
between the scorching sun
and the balmy moon

The paint we brushed
on barely dry wood, with
old bristles bunched in
clumsy handles, wielded
by fresh beginnings

Weathered, seasoned,
chipped, peeling,
ingrained and
hanging on

Still there

A one-eyed man
can be a King
or condemned

in the land
of the blind

There is an old man
got one good leg
don't use no cane
he just hops on
down the road

He got a mangy dog
don't see too good
can't hear much too
it just follows
its nose

And when trouble comes
they got no place to go
they just stand their ground
and bring some trouble
of their own

So watch out
for a one leg man
watch out
for a mangy dog
if you got trouble
on your mind

And when good times come
they still got no place to go
they just hang around
and bring some good times
of their own

Watch out
for a one leg man
watch out
for a mangy dog
if you got good times
on your mind

Some nurses came rushing in because his monitors had been going haywire, and they kicked me out of his room. I was glad at first, because I was beginning to feel his pain. When he was talking about that little boy, I started to think about my own boy, and how he died with my wife when the car I was driving went off the road. And I started to see his face, all covered in blood, and looking up at me for help, and I remembered how I tried, I tried everything I knew how, but it wasn't enough, I wasn't enough, and he got taken away from me. He and his mom got taken away from me. And I feel as though I died in that crash too, but my body stayed behind. And I've been trying to go with them, but my body won't let me. Not completely. It's like part of me has gone to find them but the rest of me can't catch up, and I'm in agony as I try to pull and push and rip and tear and claw away at whatever's holding me back.

     And I've been trying to wash all that blood from my boy's face, so I could see him, and he would be all right again. But I haven't had anything but tears to wash that blood away. And at first they flowed like rivers, and then like streams, and then like rain. And then slowly they ran out, there just wasn't any more. And sometimes I see his face, and sometimes he's even smiling, and sometimes my wife is there too. But it's not enough, it's never enough. I want more, I need more, I want to feel my boy tugging on my hand, and hear him laughing at my jokes, and watch him catching a ball when I throw it to him. I want to feel his arms around my neck hugging me so tight I can hardly breathe. I want to feel my wife's hand, and her heart beating against my chest when she puts her arms around me. I want to feel her breath on my neck as she smiles and laughs at the day. I want them back so much there's no room for anything else inside me, just that want, that need, that ******* hole of an ache, to have them back again.

     And all these years I've been trying to dull that pain, day after day, hour after hour, bottle after bottle, ounce after ounce. And I've been building scars, like bricks in a wall, to try and keep the hurt away. But listening to that guy in the hospital, I felt like his words had been picking away at those scars and tearing down those walls. And then, after seeing my boy's face again, and thinking about my wife, I felt like l needed that pain. That somehow it gets me closer to them and maybe I'll lose them if I stop feeling whatever is tearing away at me. So I went back to see him the next day, and we talked for a real long time, and made a pact to go up to his village and try to get the herring and seal to recover, and to fight the oil companies, and kumbaya. And I gave him my number to call me when he got out of the hospital if he needed a place to crash, and he said he would. And about a week later I got a call, but it wasn't from him, it was from a deputy sheriff in the next county saying they had found my number in the pocket of a guy who had been beaten to death and it was all he had on him and would I come over and identify the body?

     I went over there and it was him lying on a slab in the morgue. I just couldn't leave him there, so I called that lawyer who got me out of jail and she was kind enough to help me make arrangements to have his body sent to his village for burial, and she lent me some money to go along. I wasn't sure how his father would react, or what would happen when I got there, but I knew that I had to keep up my end of the pact that I had made with my friend.

     It was time now, so I took a final look around. The apartment looked smaller somehow, now that it was empty. Then I grabbed my bags, opened the door and said to the wind, "OK Irniq, let's go home."

It was still early, so I took another look around and, sure enough, there was some dug-in grime around where my rickety sofa-bed used to be. I had spent the last 24 hours scrubbing, scraping, wiping and polishing the tiny apartment that used to be my home and although I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep or rest or even sit still for two seconds at a time, so I sprayed that grimy spot with some 409 and scoured it over and over until I found clean.

     Most of my stuff I had already put out on the street to let whoever take what they wanted and then I tossed the leavings to a trash bin. Not much. Mostly personal items and this and that. Things I had survived on, and maybe buried me, these past few years. But I did keep a few things . . . a couple pictures, some old letters, and my son's baseball mitt. It was well-worn but in good shape, even though it was the only one he ever used. I would be traveling light, taking just a few extra clothes, razor and such, and the thickest parka I could fit into my duffel bag. Oh, and a new black suit that I had packed in a separate bag. Also, I would be traveling with a friend.

     I hadn't known him long, maybe a few weeks. When I first saw him he was lying in an alley next to the bar down the street. His face was all bruised, his eyes were swollen, and blood was oozing out his mouth and nose. He was still breathing, but I couldn't tell if he was conscious, so I yelled, "Hey Chief . . . you OK?" He didn't answer, so I looked up and down both ends of the alley, didn't see anyone, and started to check his pockets for anything that I could score. They were empty on one side, so I rolled him over to check the other side when his hand came flying up and grabbed me by the throat. He was squeezing so hard, I thought he was going to break my neck, but then all of a sudden he just let go. I would have been scared shitless but it happened so fast all I could do was gag. Then everything got all bright as a spotlight lit the alleyway and two cops came toward me with their guns pulled.

They hauled me off to jail and got an ambulance for the guy in the alley. I was booked for assault and battery, robbery, and a few assorted charges thrown in for good measure. It wasn't the first time I had been arrested, so I knew the cops weren't going to believe anything I had to say, especially if I used the word, "innocent." So I stewed in jail for a couple days, until just before my arraignment, when I got to meet the lawyer they had assigned to me. She looked capable enough, but I didn't think she had any time to look into my case, so I asked her if the cops had logged any of the money I supposedly stole into evidence. She asked me "Why?," so I told her it would make the cops look ***** if I actually stole some money and none of it got turned in. But then she said that the guy in the alley had told the cops it wasn't me, but some other guys that beat him up, and he refused to press charges against me anyway, so she could get my case dismissed.

     After I got released, I spent a few days tending to my needs and was lying on the floor next to my fridgette when my mind fuzzed slowly into focus. I was staring at something I couldn't quite make out when I realized it was my reflection on a tequila bottle sitting right next to my face. It was empty, so I pushed it away, and the roaring sound it made as it rolled across the floor felt like a jet plane was landing on my head. That got me up and I got some ice and put it in the sink, which I filled with cold water, and then with my aching head. I didn't feel anything at first, but all of a sudden I felt like I stuck my head in a light socket and it was being soaked and set on fire at the same time. My first reaction was to pull my head up, but I needed that icy water to stop the hurt in my skull, so I grabbed the counter real hard and forced my head back in the sink. My eyes opened wide and I kinda made a blubbering sound as I shook my head from side to side and bubbles flew out my mouth. Then I tried to come up for air, but my shoulder got snagged by the faucet and I started to swallow some water. That got me panicking a bit and I started bouncing around trying to find a way to breathe, until my knees buckled and then I kinda slid out of that sink and onto the floor.

     I coughed and ****** wind for a time, and then I just lay back, spread my arms and closed my eyes. It felt real soothing somehow, like all the fight and pain were draining away, and I just lay there, as if I was floating on a pool of warm Kentucky sunshine. And then I remembered the guy in the alley and how he let me go, both my throat and the police. My lawyer had learned a little bit about him and told me he was a corporal in the Marines, served three tours in Iraq, been awarded some medals, and his name was James Mitchell. She didn't know what he was doing in town or where he was from, but that he had been hurt pretty bad and would be in the hospital for a while. I was feeling a bit curious, and kinda in his debt somehow, so I got up to go see if he was still around.

When I got to the hospital, the nurses told me he was still recovering from surgery for some internal injuries and this and that, but I could go see him for a bit. So I went up to his room and realized that I didn't really know what he looked like, other than blood and bruises, but I could still tell it was him by the way the bandages were wrapped around his head. "Hey Chief," I said, "howya doin'?" This time I knew he was conscious but he didn't say anything. He just gave me this look like he was saying, "Who are you?" and "How do I get rid of you?" at the same time. So I replied, "I know your name is Mitchell, but I figured the only way you'd remember me is if I called you 'Chief,' like I did before." That got his attention and he threw me this sudden, glowering stare for what seemed like a real long time, like he was trying to make up his mind about something. I thought I had ****** him off with that "Chief" crack, but then he said real soft,  "My name's not Mitchell."

     That suprised me a bit, so all I could say was, "But that's who's room this is, according to the nurses."

     "Maybe so. But that's not my real name . . . It's just a name I made up."

     "What, you on the run or something?"
    
     "Something like that."

     "And you ain't a Marine?"

     "How'd you . . . ?" Another stare, and then, "Nope. Not now. I was though."

     "I don't get it."

     "Mitchell was a name I made up when I joined the Corps . . . "

     "So, why did you make up a name? . . . You got a record?"

     "Nothin' like that . . . My real name is Irniq . . . It's an old Inuit name. When I joined up, I thought I was puttin' those days behind me."

     "Inuit . . . What's that, a kind of Indian?"

     "It means, 'People' . . . but you prob'ly think of us as 'Eskimos.' We don't like that name, so we don't use it."

     He stopped looking in my direction and kinda tilted his head back and rolled his eyes back before closing them. Then he took a few real deep breaths, and said, "I grew up in a village that was mostly hunters and fishermen. It was fun, when I was little, kind of like goin' on an adventure all the time. But as I got older, I realized how dirt poor we were and how we seemed to catch less game every season. And then I learned that our tribe owned land that the oil companies wanted to drill, and that the oil money could end our need to hunt, and get us modern, comfortable lives, but the tribe kept clingin' to their old ways. My father said it was oil that wiped out the herring habitats, and caused the seal population to crash, and was keepin' the ice away. I didn't care and thought he was a fool fightin' a losin' battle. I thought I saw the future and that he was goin' down with the past. We had terrible fights and I believed that the man who had once been this mighty hero of mine had turned into a pathetic has-been, and I didn't want to get dragged down with him. I thought that by leavin', I could somehow be part of the future. I didn't have too many places to go, so I joined the Marines."

     "Then what are you doing here?"

     He dropped his head forward, opened his eyes, locked them right on to mine, and said, "I left the Corps a couple of months ago. When I joined up, my father told me he no longer had a son. I guess I didn't really hear those words until I went back home and he shut the door in my face. My mother came out and tried to welcome me home, and get me to stay, but I knew that my father had been right all along, and that it was me who was pathetic. So I got on a bus and went as far as I could until my money ran out, and here I am."

     "What do you mean, about your father being right?"

     He closed his eyes again, brought both hands up to the sides of his face, and said, "When I was in the Corps, I got sent to Iraq. I was pretty gung ** at first, and thought I was fightin' for freedom and the way of life that I wanted, but then it just seemed to get pointless. Day after day of cat-and-mouse with an enemy hidin' in plain sight and no real purpose other than bein' there and gettin' into firefights. Then one day I was on this mission clearin' some homes of insurgents. I was leadin' a squad goin' door-to-door and not havin' much trouble 'til we went to this one house and there's this woman screamin' and tryin' to get past us. A couple of my guys had to hold her down while the rest of my squad got her family to kneel down beside her. The woman kept on screamin' and we didn't have an interpreter, so I went up to her and tried to calm her down. I told her in as soothin' a voice I could that we weren't goin' to hurt anyone, we were just lookin' for bad guys, when I saw this blur out of the corner of my eye. The woman started screamin' louder, and I turned and yelled, 'Stop!!! Stop!!!' a couple of times, but it kept movin' fast and I just reacted . . . I didn't have any time to think . . . it just kept movin' . . . and I was yellin', 'Stop!!! Stop!!!' . . . but it wouldn't stop . . . it wouldn't stop . . . it just kept movin' . . . . . . and I reacted . . . I just reacted . . . . . . and then there was my muzzle flash and this red mist . . . . . . this red mist that just erupted . . . and kind of hung there . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and then the woman wasn't screamin' . . . and I wasn't yellin' . . . . . . . . . and there was just this little boy . . . . . . . . this little boy, lyin' on the ground . . . . . . with this mush where his face used to be . . . . . . . . . . . and it was quiet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . so quiet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . until I heard this sound like nothin' I ever heard before . . . this kind of moan . . . this deep, hollow, primeval moan that kind of rumbled at first . . . . . . . . and then it grew louder . . . and louder . . . and the pitch got higher and higher . . . . . . until it turned into this ferocious gut-wrenchin' shriek that filled my head and reached way down and ripped my insides out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and every day I try to put that boy back together in my mind . . . . . . I try to see his face . . . but I can't . . . . . . . . . . . . I can't see his face . . . . . . and I can't get that sound out of my head . . . . . . . . . . . . every single day . . . . . . . . . . . . and all I can see is my muzzle flash . . . and that mist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . that godawful red mist."

When Theia crashed
Into the Earth
Four billion years ago,
It was initially
Absorbed
And then let go,
To orbit for eternity in unwinding rings and slow

When Voyager
Flew past Jupiter at
Breakneck speed
or more, it caught
A glimpse and teased
Propulsion that
paused
The giant just a bit,
Every
Trillion
Years
Or
So

Packages are beautiful,
resplendent in their colors
bright and cheerful,
attractive in their shape
and tempting in
appearance, wrapped
in ribbons richly hued
with curlicues and bows

We love to carry them
about, showing everyone
how fortunate we are
to have such gifts
in our possession,
letting everyone join
our wonder about
what may be
in there

But I prefer a plain
brown wrapper
bearing no disguise,
or better yet the
contents revealed
to my eyes

To me, it's not the
package that's important,
it's what's inside

I'm going to make
pancakes today
and I won't be grumpy
if they're lumpy

Because I'll know
what's in 'em
and how good they'll be
in me

There is no beauty
in pretense

only the fleeting
mask of some
shameful truth

Meandering up Route 1
past farmhouses and roadhouses
through turning and lingering
late Autumn leaves

A pace less determined
than I 95 reveals
a harbor content
with its own
slice of the sea

I never saw a peacock fly
before I saw one on my roof
and though I haven't seen
that many, I thought I
had seen enough

To speak with some authority
about the way that peacocks
travel, which as far as I knew,
always was on sand and gravel

Their regal nature and the beauty
of their plumes make them one of
nature's wonders, and whenever
I see one, I always stop and wonder

I guess that's why I thought
that peacocks just don't fly

They don't need to hurry,
and never seem to worry,
so they parade along
and let their admirers
marvel at all their splendor

So I was surprised to see
a peacock on my roof,
it surely didn't climb
and there was
no rope or ladder,
but then I heard wings
flapping just above my head
it was another peacock
who went to join his friend

I guess they liked the view
and I learned something new

That even though I would
surely fly, instead of walk,
stretching my legs to
strut my stuff
might be better
if I were a peacock

Has its flaws

The Center
of the Universe
is no longer there

It blew up
a long time ago

Somebody must have known
the way I feel right now
as the still cool glow
of golden hour

wraps the trees
and settles on the grass
while I sit here in a
wicker chair looking out
from this porch that
somebody some time ago
must have built for
this moment

When I am embraced
by the incandescent sky
and passersby who escaped
the scorching fury of the day
to bask in the lazy breeze

and now
come down from porches
built for them some time ago
by somebody who must have known

At absolute zero
there is no motion
only potential

At greater energy
potential is transformed
and motion occurs
at speed

A pebble
can take down
a Goliath

A rebel
can dethrone
a King

A willing mind
can conquer
Anything

What value is there
in a promise
fulfilled with ease

Compared to one
that finds its way
to you in shreds
on hands and knees

There is no better way
to do heavy lifting
than with a machine

or perform countless repetitive tasks
or manufacture microscopic objects
or handle toxic substances
or fly across an ocean

or accomplish a variety of
actions that humans
can't or won't do

And we rely on machines
to do what we tell them
when and where
and how and why
we decide
without fail
and without error

Machines outperform
humans for such purposes
and are more reliable,
consistent and
cost-effective as well

They do require maintenance
and spare parts
but nothing like health care
and benefits that humans demand

And they can be upgraded
or replaced without fear
of lawsuits or labor unions
or semiautomatic rifles and
sacks full of magazines

They are almost perfect
and better than humans
in many ways

But they can't laugh
or cry or sing
the way we do

they can't get angry
or sad or happy
or feel emotion
the way we do

they can't love
or break your heart
the way we do

and they can't
make you feel
the way you do
when you come home
from work and your
daughter comes
running to the door
shouting, "Daddy's home!!!!!!"

Not in a million years

So humans are actually
far better than machines
in the ways that matter
and the imperfections,
shortcomings, idiosyncrasies,
flaws in our character, mistakes
we make and an endless list
all prove that we are human
and capable of all these
things that machines
can't or won't do

And I am thankful
that I am not some
perfect, error free
switch-on-switch-off
low maintenance
obedient, emotionless
and highly repetitive
tool that strives
to be a machine
because I would rather
take pride in mistakes
I make and be human

especially when
I come home

To suffer pain
caused by another
is more harm
than should ever be

To heal and find
greater safety
is more difficult
than should ever be

But inflicting pain
in return only
adds to more
than should ever be

Some men see things as they are
and say "Why?"

I dream things that never were
and say "Why not?"

Around floating
grains of sand kicked up
by the sprinting toes
of shoeless feet

There remains
a bursting glow
of the purest

Joy

An object at rest
has no speed

An object in motion
has energy

The difference
is speed
is energy

Speed = Energy

’s gone phishin’
For some fools a’wishin’
They could whup
The good ole USA

They all voted for some chump
Who always takes a big fat dump
On the good ole USA

They hollar and they scream and shout
And then they cry and then they pout
Because they’ll never get their way

Sedition
‘s gone phishin’
For some fools a’wishin’
They weren't so sad
In the good ole USA

Shaky trees
stir the wind
and throw their
leaves into a spin
of sparks that
reach the clouds
before the ground

Their branches
are too restless
for climbing but
thrive as swings and
roosts for birds on wing

Like us
who found them
when our voyage
overwhelmed
our senses and direction
but not our spirit
as we let go
of what we left behind
and dreamed
of what we would become
before we took flight
anew

I got no love
to fill my heart

And nothing left
to warm my blood

I got no wings
I cannot fly

No way to go
until I die

So bury me
in a shallow grave

Let the wind
take me away



I got no love
to fill my arms

And nothing left
to ease my mind

I got no joy
I cannot fly

No place to go
but where I lie

When my last breath
is hanging low

Let it find you
in the wind

She walks in beauty, like the night
   Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
   Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
   Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
   Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
   Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
   How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
   So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
   But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
   A heart whose love is innocent!

They are still dying
in Afghanistan.

Let us honor their sacrifice,
and save others,
by bringing them home.

We have a little tug of war,
my dogs and I

It's about the cushions
where they often lie

The older one keeps moving them
from place to place
and day to day

The younger one keeps chewing them
from top to bottom
until they fray

I wag my finger,
I say "No, No!"

They wag their tails,
They just don't know

And then the sky grows ominous
as clouds begin to form
they are dark and menacing
moving in but slow

So I grab the cushions
and head toward the porch
where the roof will cover them
and keep them dry and warm

My dogs look curious,
Is this another game?
Will they get their cushions back?
Will I ever learn their ways?

But when I put the cushions
where they ought to be
I sit down beside them
and my dogs lay next to me

As we watch the raindrops
begin to trickle
and then to pour

We see what happened to the sky
and wag our tails, happy,
that I did not let
sleeping dogs lie

She was a fiction
of his imagination
and when she
beckoned he
would step out
sleepwalking

Destined for a fall
but not before
she vanished
in the waking hours

And then appeared
after the sun
before the moon
to catch him as
they lay down
beneath a blanket

of stars

If you roll snake eyes
for the come-out
you might be out of luck

But then again the odds
were greater in your favor
so you might just be
turned around

And though it may seem
foolish to bet long after
crapping out
snake eyes can be sneaky
and just might strike again

Because snakes can move
their eyes in whatever
way they choose
they can shift them
forward backward
up and down or just
leave them sideways

And they never blink

They are always lurking
when no one is watching
and even more when
they are cursed

So you might just turn the
odds around again and
count on snake eyes
especially after

You've been bit

I am a Beast
of immense proportions
with laser eyes and radar
ears my senses crystalline
escape distortion

And I have found
predators lying
in wait for you
I would have
eaten them but for
their bitter taste
so I fed them

To each other

I try to follow
my dreams
but I keep
waking up

So I try to do
what I need
but I keep
falling asleep

So I dream

When a man jumped
off the roof of a thirteen
story building, he yelled

S
o

f
a
r

s
o

g
o
o

"*******" to me
I was flattered
but not interested

So I just said
"No thanks"
and walked away

I am a son of Eden
before the slaying of
brother by brother

And have let go
the arms of our
father and mother

I walk among
the beasts of the field
and the fruit of the ground

With only my will to follow
I take each step
toward my place
and my peace

Whether I lay
here or finally
in the East

The vintage patina
of green verdigris
melts from her eyes

and turns to brown
as salty tears are shed
like streaks of rain
from darkened skies

No room here for
the tired
the poor
the huddled masses

yearning to breathe free

as bricks build walls
to shut out refugees
and armor borders
that extinguish

what once was
liberty

They're not undoable
but they are reversible
if you stop and realize

that braille on your skin
meant for the blind
cannot be read
by those who cannot feel

shouting at deaf ears
will only rob you
of your voice
and drown out anyone
who cares

There is no way
to take away
inflicted pain with more

When I lie down
I see
stairways in the
winding branches
of trees

When I rise up
I see
who climbs their
steps along
with me

Star light, star bright
doesn't only shine at night

The nearest one may
overwhelm the rest
while it rules the day
but their light is constant
nonetheless

And if you close your eyes
and feel their touch at night
you will know their presence
even as you open them
to the twinkling light
of day

deadlines missed
only know
what isn't done

but Progress
knows everything
and how far you've come

They suffer
the harshest loss
family
lovers
friends
community
occupation
respect
dignity
p­ride

Yet they endure

They live in the streets
or the hills
or the places where
no one goes
because for them
there is no home

Yet they endure

And there is no one
to care for them
or feed them when
they're hungry
or treat them when
they're sick and
they have no money
to depend on so
they beg for what
they can survive on

Yet they endure

They are disparaged
as pariahs instantly
and automatically
by most who won't
spare a second
to know them before
passing judgment
and who themselves
would self-destruct if
their better fortune
were to erode by only
a fraction of what
they have lost

Yet they endure

Despite suffering
every painful circumstance
and being dealt luck far
worse than they ever
believed possible
time and time
and time again
they continue to breathe
and to hear the sounds
that play throughout
each day and to see
what visions come
their way and they
feel the sun on their
faces as it wakes them
and brings yet
another day

And they endure

For them the privilege
of being alive when
all the Universe but
this tiny planet has been
without life from
the beginning of time
somehow gives them
the strength to struggle
through each moment
as it comes and to
be grateful for each
experience and whatever
still remains for them
without drowning
in the endless misery
of what is past

And they endure

when you are down
you must be stronger

than those around
who try to help

but don’t see
what’s got you down

or what you’re doing
to get up

and only see you
on the ground

you must be stronger
than those around

to help the helpers
look up at you

stronger

When the springtime
drank the winter snow

And brought back
the petals and the leaves

The fields were calling
for those waking

Or those chasing
what had disappeared


But when the blossoms fell
and the wells ran dry

And the sun’s roar
chased away the night

We left behind
when we were young

The schoolyards
and the bells


We were loose
upon the lakes

And fields we
made our own

It was our time
That was our time


Those summer days


And now the winter
is taking everything

That survived the fall
I feel it taking me away

But I hold on to summer days

That was our time
it was our time

I’ll be there once again

It was our time
that was our time

Running loose
upon the fields

Of summer days

He wore people
like tattoos
acquired over time
in both public
and private places

beginning with
the rub-on kind
that are cool and
breezy easy
until they rub off

and then the
colors of his crew
stuck deep into his
skin with toxic
overflow that spills
into his veins

His arms were filled
with symbolic power
that reigned on sleeveless
days but sought shelter'
in the blankets of cold
sleepless nights

and on his chest were
memories of loves
gained and lost
revealed only in
naked truthful
moments

some still pristine
others fading
but cherished
unlike the ravaged
scars of those
ripped or torn away

And on his back
were those unseen
and few they were
but fewer still
were those he knew
who still remained

invisible to him
but there where
everyone else
could see

She had moonpie eyes
and a wildcat smile,
draped by slow
smooth sip of whiskey
hair, the color of corn
in the wispy July air

And she wore purple
and white Irises speckled
with yellow as her dress,
flowing in the tall grass
beneath a willow sky

Her feet embraced
the earth between her toes,
as she twirled a whirl
of moonlight, shadowing
the daytime's blazing sun

And like a cradle rocking,
held me
like I was newborn

So **** simple
and
So **** hard to see